


Glare from the Reflection

by BeesKnees



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonks delves into the darker side of Grimmauld Place.</p><p>Written for kink-bingo 2011; dressup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glare from the Reflection

Grimmauld Place was haunted. Tonks was absolutely certain of it. Nobody had warned her when she had gone there for the first time, but after staying there a night, she knew without anyone having to tell her. She saw the shadows of the house, the way that they threw themselves across the floors without any light source. They lingered and stretched. They curled about her ankles. The entire house groaned with the weight of its past.

She really hated Grimmauld Place, and at the same time she was fascinated with it.

But it wasn't shadows or dust or sounds that came from nowhere that made Tonks aware that it was haunted.

She saw him sometimes. She saw him rounding corners. She saw a pale reflection in the mirror behind. She saw grey eyes watching her, Seeker's fingers reaching out to catch the back of her Auror robes.

Tonks ignored it at first. She tried very hard too, because she knew that the house was likely to play tricks on her. When she acknowledged that she was actually seeing something, she still tried to stay away, because, sometimes, she was also quite certain that this place wanted to harm her. When she stayed here during the night, she was afraid that it would swallow her whole and that she would never be seen again.

But finally, her curiosity, as it always did, got the best of her. She started chasing after him. She wove her way through corridors, down through hallways. Tonks broke through spiderwebs and tipped over family heirlooms. She never could catch him.

And yet, she still tried. She found her way into a locked room the one day, when the rest of the Order was downstairs having a meeting. She knew that she should have been there, that she should have been paying attention, but she couldn't. Instead, she broke into the room–his room.

It was unerringly still, and she paused just for an instant, almost startled by her surroundings. The air seemed dank, as if it was pressing down on her. She wandered forward, her boots leaving marks on the dusty floor. Her wand was stretched out in front of her, casting watery light across the room.

She saw something stir in the corner and, implicitly, she followed. She reached into the darkness of the place, where even the magic from her wand could not penetrate. She knew what she was doing was foolish. It wasn’t impossible for this place to hurt her. It was laced with hexes and crafted with the intention of keeping people like her out. But instead of pain, her fingertips fell across fabric. A frown creased the corners of Tonks’ mouth and she tightened her hands until she could drag the heavy fabric out.

It was folded up, almost into a square. She picked the bundle up and something silver clattered to the ground at her feet. She stared at it. She knew right away what it was: a Death Eater’s mask. Her stomach flipped uneasily as she the silver face looked up at her, runes and elegant swirls carved into the surface of it. She reached down, her hand unsteady, so that she could pick it up as well. As she touched it, she felt the brush of a hand against her own shoulder. She turned sharply, catching a glimpse of him before he retreated again.

Tonks didn’t know what possessed to her to go back to the bed and sit down, the robes in her lap, the mask still in her hand. She knew that she should be implicitly repulsed by the items that she was holding, but she had to admit to being somewhat curious. She wondered what it would take to drive someone to this decision. What kind of dedication or fanaticism it would take. She knew that the owner of these items had died while in service to the Dark Lord and she wondered what that was like. To be swallowed by the cause you had chosen, to know that you were walking into your own death.

Tonks picked up the mask and, feeling that this was the closest to blasphemy she would ever come, she slipped it over her face. The metal warmed against her skin. She traced her fingertips against the grooves and tried to see things as he would have seen them; she could look like anybody she wanted, but she couldn’t capture their experience, the magnitude of their feelings. She wanted to have known him, and felt the paltriness of this experience.

The fabric of the robes suddenly felt heavy against her lap, as if the weight of a hand was hovering there. She pressed her own hand down, trying to reach out across some notion of time to meet with him. To say that she was trying to understand.

Her pulse kept her pinned away from him. Too much flesh, too much blood, all of it working the way it was supposed to. She couldn’t help but be reminded of how terribly alive she was. The pressure of the hand on the fabric was too much and Tonks reached down, opening her denims deftly so that she could slip her own hand inside. Her other hand kept the mask pushed against her face. Her heavy breathing fogged up the metal, ghosts of condensation creeping along it before disappearing again.

She rubbed her fingers briefly along her clit, able to feel the flush growing along her body. She gasped aloud, the sound swelling into the silence of the room. It was overwhelming to think about how long it had been since anyone had been in this room, since anyone had touched this mask. Her fingers sped up a little, just bordering on rough, and she could the dampness that was starting between her legs.

Tonks fell back against the bed, needing a better angle. Dust filled her mouth and nose for a moment, but she didn’t care. She was too intent on sliding her fingers inside of herself. The zipper of her jeans caught at the back of her wrist, but she continued to pump her fingers inside of her self, letting them curl just slightly. She pushed her hips down, over and over, practically losing her rhythm.

The robes were spread across her stomach, and she could feel the press of two hands there, practically grasping at her just above her hips. Tonks moaned, tilting her head back just a little. The mask barely moved.

She wondered what he had done, where he had gone missing, when the lat time it was that he had been in this room, had worn this mask. She could feel the heat that was beginning to grow inside her and she pushed down toward, trying to chase after the sensation. She came abruptly, the sound of her groan, swallowed by the mask she was still wearing. She pushed her hips down, stilling for a moment. Warmth curled lazily throughout her entire body.

She slid her fingers out of herself and quickly did her up her jeans. Tonks took the mask off before she sat back up, letting it fall into the pile of fabric that was still in her lap. She glanced down at both of the, the silver glinting against the heavy black. She wrapped everything up the way that she had found it and stood. Glancing back toward the door, she slid the robes back where she had found them, figuring it was best. She didn’t know if there was anyone else that would care that the entire life of a boy was left in a corner in this room. She figured that it was best to leave things how she had found them.

Tonks ran a hand through her hair, straightened her shirt, and then walked back out into the hallway.


End file.
